The Brink of Madness
by belladonna803
Summary: Does desire shape our destiny, or is it the other way around?


The Brink Of Madness

by Belladonna803

Author's Note: Written Pre-HBP, so some aspects are AU. This is a bit of an odd one, and it came to me at a most inopportune time; when I was at work. It formed itself in the back of my mind all day, and I spent the rest of the evening pounding the keys to get it out of my system. I was feeling quite desirous, and Ginny's character seemed the correct one to funnel it through. I hope you enjoy...

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For the fourth night in a row, I cannot sleep. My body aches with desire, a burning, all-consuming desire that will never be quenched, never be sated. The object of my desperate longing arrived here on Tuesday evening, and since then, I have been trapped in this perpetual state of arousal, sliding ever-forward toward the brink of madness.

To be in the same room with him is utter torture. His mouth, so sensual, whether drawn in sadness, or curved into a smile, is mesmerizing. It should not be possible to derive so much pleasure from watching those full, silk-like lips form the syllables of my name. His sweet, deepening voice sends chills to the very marrow of my bones. And his scent—that clean, masculine scent—sends my pulse racing like the flutter of a hummingbird's wings.

My obsession's hair, thick and dusky, begs to be touched, and I am forced to curl my fingers into the palms of my hands to stop myself from doing just that. And those eyes, magnificent tourmaline pools that are the color of spring, lure me in so completely that I often forget to look away. When his eyes chance to look upon me, I can feel them scorch my flesh.

I have given up the hope of sleeping tonight, so instead, I quietly make my way down the stairs and outside, willing the slight chill in the air to cleanse my body of its churning lust. I close my eyes and drink in the night breeze, the sweet scent of summer filling my senses.

My feet move of their own accord, carrying me to the shimmering waters of the pond. Inspiration seizes me, and I stealthily remove my clothes, leaving them in a careless heap on the large stone beside me. Gratification is instantly mine as the water envelopes my skin. I revel in its intimate touch, my mind yearning to fill the void in my need-riddled body.

Images swim freely with me in the inky black wetness...his hands, his mouth, his tongue moving against me...teasing me, loving me. My breath quickens as I move through the water. This longing for him is conquering me and I am powerless to stop it. The thumping tempo of my heart fills my ears as I glide my hands over my skin. A moan escapes my lips as his image overtakes my mind, and I move my hands further down along my curves, chanting his name under my breath.

Suddenly, an all-too-familiar sensation steals over me, and I turn around to see him standing at the water's edge, his face cloaked in shadow. _Have I conjured him?_ I wonder, as I watch his hands deftly unbuttoning his pyjama shirt. His pale skin glows in the sliver of moonlight that peeks through the clouds. His bottoms are the next casualty, and I hungrily devour the picture of his lean form. My breath catches in my throat as I watch his shorts pool at his ankles. He lithely steps out of them and I gasp as he stands before me in all his glory. The intensity of the moment washes over me and my burning desire for him ignites once more, eclipsing everything around me. Nothing else matters, nothing but this.

He approaches me as if drawn by an unseen force and it is only when he is an arm's length away that I realize that the water only reaches my waist. I feel myself blush, my modesty compromised, but something in his expression won't let me move to cover myself. His sparkling eyes move from my face to my exposed flesh, his tongue darting out to moisten his beautiful lips.

"Ginny," he says finally, with the look of a starved man. "Are you real? I dreamt of this...of you." The moonlight makes him look almost angelic, and I find myself stepping closer, lifting my hand to his brow. Droplets of water from my fingertips moisten the fringe covering his scar and cascade down his cheeks, his nose, his neck. I watch as a tiny pearl of water forms at his jaw, and my tongue darts out to collect it.

My daring move sparks something within him and his mouth comes crashing down on mine, forcing my lips open to accept his hot and slippery tongue. My arms encircle his shoulders, and he pulls me closer, so close that I can feel his need, which rivals my own. Our kiss is frenzied, demanding, and it only serves to make my hunger grow, burning inside my belly and making my legs tremble with the power of it. He tastes of pumpkin juice, and I greedily lap up the sweet flavor from him. When his hands find my lower back, I let out a stifled moan as he begins to knead my flesh, grinding himself into me and pulling me deeper and deeper into the water.

My mind is reeling, and somewhere, what's left of my sanity tries to make sense of what is happening. I know this is too soon, that we have never kissed before this moment, but here we are, on the sure path to physical pleasure like neither of us has ever known. My brain tells me to stop, to pull away from him now before we've gone too far, but my body wants none of it. My body—no, my very soul—has been waiting for this...waiting for him.

All last year we danced around each other. I dated Dean, he dated Luna, and still at the end of the night, it was the two of us together in front of the common room fire. We told each other everything, we shared so much, and we grew into something more than just friends. We grew to depend on one another. When he ended things with Luna, I comforted him, and when Dean and I were through, he held me as I cried. I cried not for a relationship lost, but for a relationship doomed never to be. He had thoroughly embedded himself in my heart, and I knew that there would never be anyone else who would reach into my depths the way he did.

When term ended, he hugged me goodbye, and for the first time my lips brushed his cheek. That kiss has haunted me ever since, my regret two-fold: one being that I had done it in the first place, and the other being that I hadn't done what I'd really wanted to do and kissed his lips. When his stay with his relatives had finally come to an end and he arrived at my house, I embraced him like a friend, lingering only long enough to breathe in his scent, and feel his heart pound against me for a few strong, reassuring beats.

All regrets are forgotten as I lift my legs from the muddy floor of the pond and wrap them around his waist. His arousal grazes my sensitive flesh and I cry out, shaking with the sensations coursing through me. The water is swirling around us, moving with a power that I can't grasp the source of, and I pull my swollen mouth from his to whisper in his ear.

"Take me, Harry, I'm yours. Take me, my love..." I can sense his hesitation, but his words of reason turn into a guttural cry as he once again brushes me intimately. We are staring into each other's eyes now, both aware that something beyond our comprehension is happening here, more than just a lovers' bond. This is magical, destined and undeniable. It's as if our lives have been leading to this very moment; the culmination of two souls being forged anew as one.

His eyes ask permission and I grant it by running my hand down his trembling chest and guide him to where he belongs. Our gazes are locked on each other as he fills and completes me.

"Oh...God!" he stutters, claiming my lips again and matching the thrust of his tongue with that of his hips, our moans of ecstasy mingling and sliding around one another. Where the pain of my first time should be, there is only intense radiating pleasure, and I know that this is indeed magic, heady and all-encompassing.

"H-Harry...so...so—"

"Fucking good!" he finishes for me, lifting me up and down in the water, driving himself into me again and again. I can feel my ecstacy building, sending shocks of dizzying euphoria throughout my writhing body. He bends his head to my chest and deliciously teases me with his tongue. As he closes his mouth around my pink flesh, I am wrapped in the most powerful sensations I've ever felt, and I scream his name as I give into the overwhelming need for release. As the waves of pleasure he's drawn out of me pound into my nerve endings, I am surrounded by bright light, and my mind is flooded with random images.

A small boy cries alone in the dark, clutching his thin, tattered blanket around his shoulders. A large man with a mustache shouts at the breakfast table, sending the boy from the room with no food. An old woman feeds him stale cake, surrounded by cats. The same boy, older now, holds a letter to his chest, fighting to get away from the large man. A skinny boy with bright red hair sits across from him on a train, smiling. That same redheaded boy fights with him as they try to save a bushy-haired girl from a mountain troll. Still older, the boy raises a wand at the large mustached man, dragging his trunk behind him. The boy fights with dark hooded figures, chasing them away with the brilliant image of a stag.

More images bombard my mind, and I can barely register each of them as they race by. A dragon looms in front of him, and his broom carries him just out of its fiery reach. He clutches a fair-haired boy's dead hand, unwilling to let go. He watches the smile of a shaggy-haired man fade as he falls through a stone archway. He raises his wand in anger at a crazed woman. The redheaded boy and the bushy-haired girl surround him and he feels loved, feels like he belongs.

Suddenly, the boy is young, just a baby, and he his held lovingly by a beautiful woman with long red hair and brilliant green eyes. She smiles at the dark-haired man by her side, kissing the baby's hand and crying joyously. "Hello, Harry," says the man, gently brushing his son's fine dark hair from his smooth, unmarked brow.

The images begin to change; they are all comprised of a young girl with shining red hair and a wide, friendly smile. Her eyes twinkle at him in laughter. Her face is set in concentration, her hair whipping behind her as she throws the Quaffle through the hoop. She holds him close to her, soothing his pain with gentle touches and softly murmured words. She stares at him in frustration, her hands on her hips, heated words spilling from her mouth.

The images begin to fade as I feel Harry's movements stilling, his own pleasure having run its course. We are panting, happy and locked in each other's arms. "Your parents are so proud of you," I say, and he nods, tears in his eyes.

"He never got in here," he says, pressing his palm over my heart. It's now my turn to cry and nod, and I pull him to me, enveloping him in my love. We are both crying now, torn down and rebuilt in the experience we have shared.

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Harry awoke with a start, gasping and clutching at the blankets that were tangled around his sweaty body. He felt the last sensations from his dream ebbing away as he groped for his glasses. The room was dark, and he looked over to see Ron sprawled on his stomach, his hand dangling off of the bed, nearly touching the floor. Harry shook his head, trying to decipher the dream he'd been having. He and Ginny in the pond, but...he wasn't himself. He was inside her mind, like he had been her!

He rubbed his temples and ran a shaking hand through his hair, unsure of what to think. It was true, he'd been feeling things for Ginny for months now, things that often crept their way into his dreams, but this had been different. It seemed so real, so powerful, and they had seen inside each other's souls. _Did that always happen when you were with someone for the first time?_ He wouldn't know, considering that he was still a virgin. He and Luna had kissed and held hands, and done some touching, but it never felt right to go further than that. When it ended, he was glad that they'd kept their heads. But in this dream about Ginny—correction—where he had been Ginny, the need he felt had cancelled out any reservations that—she'd—had.

He stood up and straightened his pyjamas, glancing over at the clock that glowed in the moonlight. "Ten past midnight," he muttered, and a smile suddenly broke out on his face. It was his seventeenth birthday. He was now free to perform magic outside school, without fear of expulsion. He quickly grabbed his wand from the chair beside his bed and performed a cooling charm on his sheets. He glanced over at Ron, who hadn't stirred. "Figures," he said to himself, shaking his head. Frowning, he patted the front of his pyjamas, expecting to feel the warm, sticky remnants of his dream clinging to his skin.

Surprisingly, it was absent, and he glared back over at Ron. It had become a commonplace prank for the boys in his dorm to cast contraceptive charms on each other at random times, usually right before bed. The spell was effective for an entire day, and the only known side effect was the very potent erotic dreams that it evoked. He smirked at his friend, who must have cast it on him as he slept. Pointing his wand at Ron's sleeping form, he muttered the charm, which sent a streak of pink light across the room. Ron's skin glowed for a few seconds, before all went back to normal.

"Take that, you git," chuckled Harry, as the redheaded boy mumbled something in his sleep that sounded remarkably like, "Er-my-nee." Harry's eyes widened at the confirmation that Ron's feelings for their best mate were indeed more than just friendly. He'd suspected as much, but Ron never brought it up, and Harry didn't feel it necessary to pry into something that Ron wasn't comfortable mentioning on his own.

Pig began twittering at the sight of Harry awake and moving around, so he quickly levitated one of Ron's discarded shirts on top of the tiny owl's cage, and he instantly settled back down. Harry realized how dry his throat was, so he crept to the door and eased it open, skipping the squeaky steps as he headed down to the kitchen. He poured himself an ice cold glass of pumpkin juice and was just finishing it off when something made him freeze in place.

Ginny came floating gracefully down the stairs, her footfalls barely making a sound on the worn wooden floor. She didn't see him there, and he didn't call out to her. His voice seemed to have left him as he thought of his dream, and of how their intimacy had felt. He watched as she opened the door, and sauntered outside, making her way to the pond.

Harry managed to put the glass in the sink without breaking it, and he moved on leaden feet to the door. He followed her, unable to look away as she stripped off her clothes and waded out into the water. His jaw dropped at the implications of what he was seeing. This was his dream! This was precisely what had happened, only he was experiencing it from his own point of view! How was it possible? He wasn't a seer, at least, he didn't think he was. He'd never _seen_ anything before.

All thoughts were erased from his mind as she began touching herself, and he distinctly heard his name falling from her lips. She was so beautiful; a fact he'd always known, but it seemed painfully more so tonight. Harry realized that he'd been fighting the inevitable for months now; he did not want to live his life without her, and the thought of her sharing her body, heart, and soul with someone else flooded him with a piercing despair like he'd never known. Gazing down at her in this private moment, the memory of the dream overloaded his senses, and his heart began to quicken as he realized what came next. It was time for him to make his appearance. He stepped forward, and revealed himself to his awaiting soul mate-to-be.


End file.
